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ISAIAH 

INCORPORATED 


ISAIAH 


INCORPORATED 


BY 

ELISABETH  WOODBRIDGE 


NEW  HAVEN 

YALE  UNIVERSITY  PRESS 
MDCCCCXX 


COPYRIGHT  1920  BY 
YALE  UNIVERSITY  PRESS 


ISAIAH 

INCORPORATED 

ISAIAH  the  Prophet  sat  in  his 
study,  alone,  submerged  in  pro- 
foundest  meditation.  Near  him, 
on  a  little  old  table,  lay  a  pen, 
half  hidden  under  loose  sheets  of  pa- 
per covered  with  writing  in  a  large, 
swift  hand.  It  was  the  manuscript  of 
a  new  prophecy — the  greatest  proph- 
ecy Isaiah  had  ever  had  revealed  to 
him — so  great  that  the  pen  faltered 
as  he  wrote— faltered  and  fell  from 
his  hand — so  great  that  at  last  it  had 
swept  him  up  into  its  own  realm,  a 
realm  outside  time  and  space  and  the 
temporary  conditions  of  this  life. 
The  stillness  was  intense. 
It  was  broken  by  the  sharp  cry  of 

460671 


\£sa£ak,  Inc. 


a  newsboy  in  the  street,  calling  an 
extra.  Isaiah  stirred,  drew  himself 
together,  saw  the  sheets  of  manu- 
script and  the  little  black  pen.  He 
took  it  up  and  bent  once  more  to 
write,  but  paused  again  as  the  hoarse 
child-voice  cut  into  his  consciousness 
like  a  sharp  edge  of  paper  cutting 
the  flesh  :  "  Ex-try-paper !  Ex-try- 
paper  !"  The  pen  hung  in  his  fingers. 

Rap !  Rap !  Rap !  A  brisk,  sharp 
knock  at  his  door.  Before  he  could 
respond,  it  opened  to  admit  a  young 
man,  all  energy,  clean  good  looks, 
and  cheerfulness — very  much  like 
the  young  men  in  the  advertisements 
of  a  new  brand  of  collars.  His  keen 
young  eyes  met  with  frank  cordiality 
the  prophet's  hesitant,  almost  dazed 
ones. 

"  I  came  right  in,  sir.  I  knew  you 
would  see  me.  You  don't  mind?  Oh, 
I  interrupted  you  !  You  were  writing. 


Isaiah,  Inc. 

I  will  wait.  No,  don't  move!  My 
time  is  worth  nothing  compared  to 
yours.  Go  right  on,  sir,  please !  And 
anyhow,  I  have  some  notes  to  write 
up,  so  we  shall  neither  of  us  be  wast- 
ing our  time.  I'll  sit  over  here  and 
you  can  speak  to  me  when  you  come 
to  a  good  place  to  stop." 

The  old  prophet  moved  uneasily 
in  his  big  chair,  half  turned  to  speak, 
and  settled  back  once  more.  He 
reached  for  his  pen  and  drew  to- 
wards him  a  half-written  sheet,  on 
which  were  the  words : 

"the  valley  of  vision ...  they 
shall  behold  a  land  that  reach- 
eth  afar,  a  place  of  broad  riv- 
ers and  streams. . ." 

The  pen  began  to  make  slow  lines 
across  the  page.  The  old  hand  moved 
as  though  without  guidance  and  the 
old  eyes  were  dreamy,  but  the  lines 


Isaiah,  Inc. 

as  they  grew,  sketched  in  the  long 
curves  and  swift  peaks  of  a  range  of 
great  mountains. 

In  the  corner  of  the  room  the 
young  man's  pen  scratched  briskly, 
and  every  few  moments  he  tore  off  a 
sheet  of  his  pad  with  a  gesture  as 
crisp  as  the  sound  it  made. 

Finally  Isaiah  pushed  back  his 
chair  and  half  turned — 

"  I  think — perhaps — "  he  began. 

Instantly  the  young  man  was  all 
attention.  He  tucked  his  notes  in  one 
pocket,  his  pen  in  another,  and  drew 
his  chair  about  so  that  he  faced  the 
prophet. 

"Thank  you,  sir.  I  hope  I  didn't 
hurry  you !  I  don't  want  to  take  a 
moment  of  your  time  unnecessarily — 
time  is  the  most  valuable  thing  in  the 
world,  of  course — we've  learned 
that.  In  fact,  sir,  that's  the  very  thing 
I've  come  to  you  to  talk  about.  The 


Isaiah,  Inc. 

fact  is,  we  want  to  help  you  save 
time.  We  want,  that  is,  to  help  you 
use  your  time  in  the  best  way — to 
make  it  tell !  We  want  to  make  you 
tell,  sir,  and  we  know  we  can  do  it. 
Is  that  clear,  sir?" 

''Very  clear — oh,  very,"  murmured 
the  old  man. 

"Thank  you,  sir.  Now  let  me  show 
you  our  whole  plan.  You  see  it's  this 
way:  I  represent  a  new  system — a 
new  philosophy,  I  may  say.  Do  you 
mind  a  bit  of  philosophy,  sir?  Will 
it  bore  you?  You  see  it's  this,  in  a 
nutshell :  Here's  the  world — it's  a 
big  world — lots  of  people — big  dis- 
tances. And  here's  supply — values — 
big  values — and  there's  demand.  And 
between  supply  and  demand,  there's 
transportation.  There's  your  prob- 
lem— that's  all  there  is  to  it.  Now, 
sir,  the  queer  thing  is,  nobody  has 
ever  developed  the  middle  term, 


Isaiah,  Inc. 

transportation.  We,  sir,  represent 
that  middle  term.  Do  you  get  me?" 

The  old  hand  made  a  benevolent 
gesture. 

"  You  are  very  good,  sir.  Now, 
let's  take  it,  say,  in  apples.  People  all 
over  want  apples.  And  there  are  ap- 
ples, lots  of  them ;  but  the  game  is  to 
get  them  to  the  people  that  want 
them.  We  know  how. 

"But  apples  are  too  easy.  People 
want  other  things  besides  apples. 
You,  sir,  have  got  something  they 
want  just  as  much  as  they  want  ap- 
ples— maybe  more.  Anyhow,  they 
do  want  it.  And  here  you  sit,  sir,  in 
this  little  hole.  You  see  my  point,  of 
course,  or  you  will  if  you  just  keep  in 
mind  that  I  represent  transportation. 

"I  propose  to  handle  your — dope 
(we  use  short  cuts  in  language,  sir, 
as  in  other  ways)  as  I  would  handle 
apples.  I  don't  mean,  of  course,  in 


Isaiah,  Inc. 

exactly  the  same  way.  Our  system  is 
flexible — nothing  cast-iron  about  us, 
or  we'd  go  to  the  wall  in  a  week.  We 
meet  each  problem  by  itself.  We  han- 
dle apples  in  terms  of  pickers  and 
crates  and  trucks  and  distribution 
centers,  and,  of  course,  advertise- 
ment. We  handle  you,  your  product, 
sir,  in  terms  of  stenographers  and 
dictaphones  and  secretaries,  and, 
of  course,  advertisement — advertise- 
ment is  the  common  term  in  every 
answer  to  every  problem. 

"Well,  there  you  are!  We  simply 
put  you  on  the  map — in  fact,  we  put 
you  all  over  the  map.  At  your  end 
we  make  absolutely  no  change.  We 
may  give  you  a  better  place  to  work," 
the  young  man  smiled.  "  But  you  go 
on  practically  as  you  have  been  do- 
ing. Only  instead  of  one  hand  and 
one  pen  and  one  sheet  of  paper,  we 
give  you  a  thousand  hands  and  a 


Isaiah,  Inc. 

thousand  pens  and  a  billion  sheets  of 


paper." 


Isaiah  sat  at  a  big,  roll-top  desk 
in  a  well-lighted  office,  behind  glass 
doors  marked  PRIVATE.  Across 
his  silver  hair  shone  the  pale  light  of 
a  winter  day,  dimmed  somewhat  by 
looming  skyscrapers.  The  old  man 
sat  with  a  fountain  pen  in  his  hand. 
Beside  him  was  a  telephone  and  a 
dictaphone.  Every  now  and  then  he 
ran  his  ringers  through  his  hair  with 
a  vague  movement  that  yet  suggested 
hurry. 

Next  this  office  was  another,  also 
well  lighted,  also  supplied  with  a 
roll-top  desk,  a  telephone,  and  a  dic- 
taphone. Here  sat  the  young  man 
who  represented  transportation.  His 
glass  door  was  marked  "  Secretary's 


Isaiah,  Inc. 

Office,"  and  outside  it  was  yet  an- 
other office,  much  larger,  from  which 
the  continuous  click  of  typewriters 
penetrated  stridently.  It  reached, 
dimly,  even  the  inner  room  where 
the  prophet  sat. 

The  telephone  rang  sharply  in 
both  rooms  at  once.  Isaiah  started, 
and  gripped  the  arms  of  his  chair. 
The  young  man  took  down  the  re- 
ceiver. 

" Hello!.... Yes,  sir.  His  secre- 
tary speaking.  Yes ....  Yes ....  I 
understand.  ...  I  see.  .  .  .  February 
17  or  19,  you  said?.  .  .He  is  free  on 
the  seventeenth.  What  sort  of  audi- 
ence is  it  I...  I  get  you.  And  how 
large?.  .  .  Well, about  how  large?.  .  . 
Can't  you  give  a  guess? .  .  . Not  more 
than  fifty?  I  understand.  .  .  .Oh, yes, 
of  course,  only  I'm  afraid  he  couldn't 
consider  giving  up  a  date  for  that. 
We  aren't  booking  him  for  an  audi- 


Isaiah,  Inc. 

ence  of  less  than  five  hundred.  You 
see,  everybody  wants  him,  and  it 
simply  isn't  good  economy  to  go  to 
a  handful  of  people,  when  there's 
another  crowd  of  five  hundred  or  a 
thousand  or  two  thousand  demand- 
ing him.  You  understand,  I'm  sure. 
.  .  .  .Yes,  of  course,  I'm  sure  they're 
earnest,  but  so's  everybody — we're 
all  earnest.  Look  here,  tell  your 
bunch  to  get  in  touch  with  the  '  Y.M.' 
and  pick  up  a  date  there  when  they 
can  hear  him.  All  they  have  to  do  is 
to  pay  their  dollar,  and  they  get  all 
the  notices.  I  can  tell  you,  though  it 
hasn't  been  announced  yet,  we're  just 
closing  with  them  for  a  big  thing — a 
series.  .  .  .All  right.  And  you  under- 
stand, I'm  sure,  it's  purely  a  matter 
of  economizing  everybody's  time  and 
energy — above  all,  the  Chief's.  Good- 
bye."' 

He  hung  up,  and  plunged  into  the 


Isaiah,  Inc. 

opening  of  letters  that  lay  in  a  pile 
in  front  of  him.  The  telephone  rang 
again. 

"  Hello  ! .  .  .  Oh  !  Good  morning, 
Plimpton,  how's  business?.  .  .That's 
good,  so's  ours.  We  simply  can't  han- 
dle it  all.  Well,  now  about  that 
course — we're  ready  to  close  for  it 
as  per  my  letter  of  yesterday.  By  the 
way,  what  are  you  going  to  call 
it?.  .  .  Good!  I'll  make  a  note  of  it 
(writing)  'Condensed  Course  in 
Prophecy' — good  title.  Then  that's 
settled.  Of  course  you  know  that 
we're  letting  him  do  it  on  the  under- 
standing that  it's  to  be  something  re- 
ally constructive — you  get  me?  We 
want  you  to  guarantee  at  least  five 
hundred  young  men,  pledged  to  the 
complete  course. .  .  .  Seven  weeks,  yes 
....  No,  we  can't  cut  that. .  .  .  No,  the 
Chief  wouldn't  consider  it.  Sorry,  but 
you  see,  he  began  by  wanting  three 


Isaiah,  Inc. 

years,  and  then  I  went  over  the 
whole  thing  with  him,  and  he's  going 
to  try  this.  It's  a  sort  of  compromise. 
I'm  taking  over  part  of  the  work 
myself — all  the  preliminaries,  you 
know,  voice-training,  platform  man- 
ner, material,  background — all  that 
sort  of  thing.  We've  got  to  save  the 
Chief  all  we  can — he's  showing  the 
strain  a  bit. .  .  .  Oh,  no,  he's  all  right. 
Well,  then,  you'll  attend  to  the 
pledges.  They're  supposed  to  do  six 
months'  field  work  after  the  course, 
you  understand,  and  then  return  for 
a  two  weeks'  institute  next  winter. 
You  see,  there  simply  isn't  enough 
of  the  Chief  to  go  round — we've  got 
to  make  more  of  him  somehow. 
Good-bye." 

Again   he   fell   upon   his   letters; 
again  the  telephone  rang. 


Isaiah,  Inc. 

"Hello!  Yes,  speaking No, but 

I  can  talk  for  him,  it  all  goes  through 
me ....  Talk  away ....  What  syndi- 
cate?... Oh,  the  press — ....I  see." 
The  young  man's  tone  grew  mellow 
with  genuine  respect.  "  I  suppose  you 
cover  the  whole  country  pretty  well . . 
Yes,  I  know.  Any  foreign  sheets  I .  .  . 
I  see.  Not  bad.  Well,  come  up  and 
talk  to  me,  or  I'll  come  to  you.  .  .  . 
Just  as  you  say.  I'll  be  right  here  for 
an  hour.  I'll  tell  'em  to  send  you  in. 
Arbuckle,  you  said  the  name  was.  .  . 
All  right,  good-bye." 

He  hung  up,  pushed  a  button  be- 
side him,  took  down  the  receiver 
again  :  "  Miss  Brown  :  Man  named 
Arbuckle  is  coming  in  to  see  me  in 
about  ten  minutes.  Send  him  right 
up.  Thank  you."  He  got  up,  quietly 
closed  the  door  into  the  inner  office, 
and  returned  to  his  desk  and  his  let- 
ters. 


Isaiah,  Inc. 

A  few  minutes  later  there  was  a 
knock,  the  door  opened,  and  a  wom- 
an's voice  announced,  "Mr.  Ar- 
buckle,  sir."  The  young  secretary 
rose.  "Arbuckle,  glad  to  see  you  !  My 
name's  Smith.  Sit  down.  Now — we're 
both  busy,  let's  cut  formalities. 
What's  your  idea?" 

The  visitor  was  young,  rather 
plump,  but  every  bit  as  crisp  as  the 
secretary,  and  no  time  was  lost. 

"  I  doped  it  out  to  you  over  the 
'phone.  We  want  your  stuff — place 
it  in  our  papers — syndicate  it — send 
it  all  over." 

"What's  your  notion — I  mean,  as 
to  the  form?" 

"Oh,  as  to  form — it's  nothing 
new — take  a  corner — always  the 
same  corner;  get  a  title — always  the 
same  title — same  print — same  every- 
thing, you  know,  so  it's  easy  to  find — 


Isaiah,  Inc. 

like  'Beauty  Chats'  or  'Daddy's 
Good  Night  Stories.'" 

"  Got  your  title?" 

"Oh,  that's  easy:  'The  Prophet's 
Corner,'  'The  Cave  of  the  Proph- 
et'— something  crisp  and  striking — 
our  publicity  men  will  attend  to  that. 
We'll  get  your  stuff  across,  I'll  guar- 
antee that.  Your  Chief  11  be  in  touch 
with  every  county  in  the  country  and 
a  lot  of  places  outside,  if  you'll  man- 
age him." 

"Hold  up!  There  are  the  pub- 
lishers to  consider.  He's  under  con- 
tract for  a  book,  to  come  out  just  be- 
fore next  year's  Lent — we  can't  get 
in  wrong  there — " 

"All  right.  We'll  fix  that.  Let  your 
lawyer  and  our  lawyer  go  over  the 
thing,  and  give  us  some  stuff  not 
covered  in  the  contract.  We  don't 
care — it  all  goes — the  public  wants 
it — they'll  lap  it  up." 


Isaiah,  Inc. 

"  He's  going  to  give  a  seven  weeks' 
course  at  the  'Y.'" 

"Right-o!  Give  us  that." 

"What  shape?" 

"Any  shape.  We've  got  men  who 
can  fix  it — they'll  dope  it  out  in  just 
the  style  we  want — size — shape — 
everything — give  it  to  us  in  any  old 
shape — notes — anything — " 

"  I'm  afraid  I  can't  give  you  a 
thing  until  the  course  begins — the 
Chief's  awfully  temperamental,  you 
know,  in  some  ways — we  can't  yet 
get  him  to  give  out  his  stuff  before- 
hand— he  says  he  doesn't  know  what 
he's  going  to  say!  I  used  to  worry 
about  it,  frankly,  but  I  don't  any 
more — he  always  gets  something 
across  that  people  want." 

"I  know.  That's  the  way  they  are 
sometimes.  We'll  fix  it.  Have  a  dic- 
taphone— sort  it  out  afterwards — 


Isaiah,  Inc. 

dead  easy — just  give  us  the  rights. 
Now  about  the  business  end — " 

"  Talk  to  our  lawyer  about  all  that. 
I  don't  touch  it.  I  manage  the  Chief 
— that's  my  job." 

''Some  job!"  The  visitor  rose 
smiling. 

"Good  job,  all  right.  Nothing 
wrong  with  the  Chief,  except  that 
there's  only  one  of  him." 

"We'll  fix  that  for  you.  We'll  run 
him  through  our  machine  and  make 
five  billion  of  him." 

"  Sounds  all  right  to  me." 

"  It  is  all  right.  Now  about  your 
lawyer." 

"They'll  fix  you  up  out  in  the 
outer  office.  Wait  a  moment."  He 
stepped  to  his  desk,  pushed  the  but- 
ton, took  down  the  receiver :  "  Miss 
Brown,  put  Mr.  Arbuckle  in  touch 
with  our  Mr.  Hendricks,  will  you? 


Isaiah,  Inc. 

Thank  you."  He  turned  to  Arbuckle. 
"That's  all  right.  Miss  Brown  will 
take  care  of  you.  Good  morning." 

It  was  April.  The  big  outer  office 
was  busier  than  ever.  The  brisk  click- 
ing of  the  typewriters  was  almost  in- 
cessant, like  locusts  in  August.  Rain 
sheeted  the  windows  and  the  electric 
lights  were  turned  on.  In  the  secre- 
tary's office  a  second  telephone  had 
been  installed,  and  a  slim  young  fel- 
low sat  by  it,  taking  messages,  jot- 
ting down  memoranda  and  going 
over  mail  matter. 

The  big  desk  of  the  chief  secretary 
was  vacant.  He  himself  was  in  the 
inner  office,  a  sheaf  of  memoranda 
between  his  ringers,  his  keen  young 
eyes  bent  on  the  old  figure  outlined 
against  the  big  window.  In  here  it 
was  quiet  enough  so  that  the  rain 
gusts  could  be  faintly  heard  as  they 


Isaiah,  Inc. 

beat  against  the  heavy  pane.  Beyond, 
through  the  luminous  rain  mist,  the 
giant  buildings  showed  dimly,  gray 
creatures  looming  in  a  pearl-gray 
world. 

The  young  man  spoke  with  his 
usual  brisk  deference,  tinged  perhaps 
ever  so  faintly  with  irritation. 

"You  see, sir, they're  all  waiting — 
and  they  do  hate  to  wait — they  like 
to  get  everything  planned  definite- 
ly— we  all  do — allowing  a  margin, 
of  course,  for  accident — the  human 
equation — all  that.  Now,  I  was  won- 
dering whether  it  wouldn't  be  a  good 
plan  to  turn  in  young  Hitchcock 
on  that  book  of  yours — you  know 
Hitchcock — he  was  the  best  man  you 
had  in  that  course — and  already  we 
are  hearing  from  his  field  work — he 
simply  eats  work,  that  fellow.  Well — 
I  was  wondering — he  could  take  that 
whole  job  pretty  well  off  your 


Isaiah,  Inc. 

hands — it  would  relieve  you  and  re- 
lieve the  publishers.  Of  course  they'd 
want  your  name,  but  he'd  do  the 
work.  He  can,  I  think.  It  would  be 
his  first  big  job,  and  a  man  always 
puts  his  back  into  his  first  job.  I've 
written  this  letter,  outlining  the 
proposition,  and  if  you'll  be  good 
enough  to  look  it  over — here — these 
are  the  salient  points — there — and 
there — and  then  if  you'll  just  sign 
there — thank  you,  sir.  Of  course  they 
may  raise  a  kick,  but  I  don't  believe 
they  will — and  it'll  make  a  differ- 
ence in  the  financial  arrangements, 
but  you  aren't  interested  in  that. 
Now  let  me  see — what  else?  Oh,  yes, 
sir — there's  this  committee.  I'm  sorry, 
but  they  insist  on  seeing  you  person- 
ally— and  it  seemed  like  a  big  open- 
ing— they  represent  seventeen  dif- 
ferent denominations,  you  see.  I 
made  them  come  to  you,  of  course. 


Isaiah,  Inc. 

They're  coming  this  noon.  I'll  be 
here  to  see  it  through  and  take 
notes."  He  ran  over  his  papers  with 
deft  fingers.  "And  then  there's — 
no — nothing  else  now.  You'll  have 
two  hours  to  yourself  before  the 
committee  comes.  I'm  off,  but  I'll  be 
back  in  good  time. 

He  paused  at  the  door:  "Oh,  by 
the  way,  I  ordered  your  luncheon 
sent  in.  You  oughtn't  to  go  out.  It's 
a  gale,  besides  the  rain — blow  you 
right  into  eternity."  He  went  out, 
closing  the  door,  and  handed  his 
memoranda  to  the  young  assistant. 
"Go  over  these,  will  you,  Grayson, 
and  this  letter — you'd  better  take 
it  over  yourself.  And  a  committee 
comes  at  twelve.  Fll  be  back.  And 
meanwhile,"  he  pointed  toward  the 
inner  office,  "  keep  everybody  of  his 
neck. " 


Isaiah,  Inc. 

He  strode  out  through  the  main 
office,  stopping  here  and  there  to 
speak  to  one  of  the  stenographers 
and  glance  over  their  material.  Ten 
minutes  later  his  assistant  went  out. 

In  the  inner  office,  behind  the  glass 
door  marked  PRIVATE,  it  was  very 
still.  The  figure  at  the  big  desk  did 
not  move,  except  that  now  and  then 
the  old  hand  passed  slowly  over  the 
white  hair.  At  length  he  rose,  went 
to  the  window  and  raised  it.  A  gust 
of  rain-laden  wind  swept  in,  tossed 
his  hair,  and  rustled  the  papers  on 
the  desk.  He  wandered  back,  sat 
down  again,  took  up  his  pen,  and  be- 
gan to  write;  but  his  eyes  seemed 
not  to  see  the  page.  As  his  hand 
paused,  the  wind  blew  the  sheet 
away  into  a  corner.  Oblivious,  he 
went  on  writing  on  the  sheet  below. 
Again  the  sheet  was  blown  to  the 
floor,  again  the  old  hand  wrote  on. 


Isaiah,  Inc. 

Finally  the  hand  paused,  the  pen 
dropped,  the  prophet  rose  and  stood, 
turning  his  face  full  to  the  gray  sky. 

In  the  secretary's  office  the  tele- 
phone was  ringing  sharply.  It  fell 
silent,  then  resumed  its  insistent 
clamor.  Outside  in  the  great  main 
office,  the  clicking  typewriters  clicked 
on.  Suddenly  the  glass  door  of  the 
private  office  slammed  with  a  crash, 
and  the  girl  at  the  nearest  telephone 
started  :  "  Gee  !  Some  wind !"  she 
snapped.  "  It's  a  wonder  they  would- 
n't shut  their  own  doors !" 

At  eleven  the  assistant  returned; 
at  1 1  : 45 ,  the  secretary.  At  1 1  :  5  5 ,  the 
first  committeeman  was  announced. 
The  secretary  knocked  on  the  inner 
door,  knocked  again,  turned  the  han- 
dle and  opened  it.  A  gust  of  raw 
wind  tumbled  his  hair,  the  papers  on 
floor  and  desk  whirled  and  eddied, 


Isaiah,  Inc. 

and  one  flew  out  past  him  and  was 
caught  by  Grayson.  The  young  man 
closed  the  door  and  stepped  back  into 
his  office.  "How  about  it,  Grayson? 
When  did  the  Chief  go?" 

"  Isn't  he  there  ?  Must  have  gone 
while  I  was  out  with  that  letter.  I've 
got  a  report  on  that — " 

"Never  mind  now.  Ask  Miss 
Brown  if  she  knows  anything  about 
him — I  certainly  made  it  clear  about 
the  meeting — and  tell  her  to  send 
them  all  into  the  committee  room — 
I'll  meet  them  myself — darned  queer 
— the  old  fellow  looked  as  if  you 
couldn't  pry  him  out — and  I  was 
having  his  lunch  sent  in — well — 
get  that  word  to  Miss  Brown." 

He  reopened  the  inner  door.  Again 
a  whirl  of  papers.  He  dashed  across 
and  closed  the  window,  mopped  his 
rain-misted  face  with  his  handker- 
chief, turned  and  surveyed  the  little 


Isaiah,  Inc. 

office.    Grayson    reappeared    in    the 
doorway. 

"Leave  everything  just  as  it  is, 
Grayson — he'll  be  back,  of  course. 
I've  got  to  handle  that  committee — 
darned  queer!" 


THREE  days  later,  the  secretary  and 
young  Grayson  stood  together  in  the 
inner  office.  The  sheets  of  paper  still 
lay  where  the  wind  had  blown  them 
that  stormy  day. 

The  telephone  rang.  The  secretary 
took  it  up  and  talked,  standing :  "Yes, 
speaking — I  see — well,  now,  I'll  tell 
you — the  Chief  isn't  here  just  now — 
No,  I  can't  book  him  at  present. .  .  . 
No,  I  can't  make  a  statement. .  .  . 
But  here's  what — you  can  have 
Hitchcock — a  man  he's  trained,  you 
know. .  .  .  Sure  he  is — he's  all  right 


Isaiah,  Inc. 

.  .  .  .All  right. .  .  .Yes,  the  twenty- 
first,  your  regular  time — same  place 
.  .  .  .yes. . .  .  Now  see  here,  don't  you 
worry,  Hitchcock  puts  up  a  mighty 
good  talk — you  put  up  the  publicity 
on  it  and  he'll  put  up  the  talk — I'm 
backing  him.. ..All  right,  good-bye." 

He  set  down  the  telephone  and 
stood,  his  feet  apart,  his  hands  in  his 
pockets.  "  Do  you  know,  Grayson — 
in  some  ways — in  a  good  many  ways 
— I  could  run  this  outfit  better — give 
more  real  satisfaction  all  round,  you 
know — without  the  old  Chief  than  I 
can  with  him.  You  see,  I've  always 
believed  in  making  allowance  for  the 
human  equation  and  all  that — you've 
got  to,  of  course — up  to  a  certain 
point.  But  if  it  goes  beyond  that 
point,  you  simply  can't  handle  it — at 
least  our  system  can't — I  don't  know 
any  system  that  can. 

He  looked  about  him  at  the  pa- 


Isaiah,  Inc. 

pers.  "Well,  we  might  as  well  pick 
these  up — we  may  get  an  idea  what 
was  in  the  old  fellow's  mind.  Queer ! 
Just  a  sentence  or  two  on  each  sheet ! 
Here's  this,  for  instance  :  'the  nations 
that  rush  like  the  rushing  of  many 
waters;  but  he  shall  rebuke  them — ' 
That's  all  it  says !  Here's  another : 
'and  from  the  hard  service  wherein 
thou  hast  made  me  serve' — it  stops 
right  there !" 

"Here's  more,"  said  Grayson,  pull- 
ing a  sheet  out  from  its  lodgement 
behind  the  desk  and  glancing  over 
it,  "but  it  hasn't  any  connection  with 
yours :  '  In  returning  and  rest  shall 
ye  be  saved ;  in  quietness  and  in  con- 
fidence shall  be  your  strength :  and 
ye  would  not.'" 

"Seems  as  if  I'd  heard  that  be- 
fore," said  the  secretary. 

"Probably  in  his  lectures,"  said 
Grayson. 


Isaiah,  Inc. 

"  In  that  case,  Hitchcock's  got  it 
all  in  his  notes — he's  got  the  whole 
thing  systematized.  Here  now,  listen 
to  this :  '  Woe  unto  them  that  rely 
on  horses  and  trust  in  chariots — for 
their  horses  are  flesh  and  not  spirit/ 
Well,  that  gets  me,  I  admit.  What  do 
you  suppose  he  meant  by  that?  And 
here's  a  whole  bunch.  Listen  to  this : 
'Wherefore  do  ye  spend  money  for 
that  which  is  not  bread,  and  your 
labor  for  that  which  satisfieth  not?' 
Great  guns,  it's  hot  in  here  now  the 
sun's  come  out!"  He  laid  down  the 
loose  sheets  and  flung  up  the  win- 
dow. A  gust  of  April  wind  swept  in, 
eddied  about  the  little  room,  whirled 
the  loose  sheets  on  the  desk  round 
and  round,  then  sucked  them  out 
through  the  open  window.  The  two 
young  men  stood  watching  them, 
fascinated,  as  they  floated  higher  and 
higher  among  the  tall  buildings. 


Isaiah,  Inc. 

"See  'em  go!  They  look  like  white 
birds/'  said  Grayson.  The  other 
turned  and  looked  at  the  bare  desk. 
"That  wind  did  the  business  all 
right,"  he  said  cheerfully.  "Hitch- 
cock won't  even  have  to  clean  house 
when  he  comes  in.  Come,  Grayson, 
we've  got  to  get  down  to  work." 


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KARL  TRUMBULL  WILLIAMS  MEMORIAL 
BY  YALE  UNIVERSITY  PRESS 


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